


The Universal Palace Theater Bloody Christmas Extravaganza (HHN)

by Usher_Julian



Category: HHN - Fandom, Halloween Horror Nights - Fandom
Genre: All the memes, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Cute, Dead People, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gift Exchange, Halloween, Halloween Horror Nights, I'm HHN Trash, Office Party, Secret Santa, all the references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usher_Julian/pseuds/Usher_Julian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Christmas the Halloween Horror Nights icons and friends get together to have what amounts to a really creepy Christmas Office Party. Puns are abused. So are people. Blood is spilt and Christmas sweaters are worn. When The Usher is hosting and H.R. Bloodengutz has pulled out all the stops for decorations everything is bound to be festive and fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Universal Palace Theater Bloody Christmas Extravaganza (HHN)

**Author's Note:**

> A late Christmas gift for my lovely [Saving-Mr-Skywalker](http://saving-mr-skywalker.tumblr.com/) over on Tumbr. She's a gift herself and deserves all the love. 
> 
> I hope watching all of these dork interact will give you as much joy as I got from writing it. :D

“Merry Christmas, Toe-rags!” Jack said, announcing his arrival at the holiday get-together with his usual up-beat snarl. He was wearing a red, velvet Santa coat and Santa hat over his white with blue-and-yellow-polka-dots clown pants. The blood stains and tearing in the velvet made it evident that whoever had originally worn the outfit had not survived the encounter. The hat was perched rakishly over his tri-pointed hair, and the red velvet clashed horribly with the orange of his coiffure, but did he give a flying fuck? Definitely not! 

Jack posed in the door-way for a second, waiting for everyone in the room, from the Caretaker to that weird fucking body collector in the robe, to acknowledge both his existence and his awesomeness.

Well, he _was_ posed in the doorway, till a shove sent him tripping into the room. He caught himself before he could face-plant and spun on his over-large shoe to find pretty little Chance standing behind him with an innocent smile and her hands still held out. She was dressed like an elf, all green felt and a tilted hat sat atop one pigtail.

“Baby girl,” he snarled, “don’t you know I’m making a list? Right now it looks like all you’ll be getting for Christmas is coal,” he pressed his mouth to her ear, his teeth gnashing audibly, “‘cause you’re such a naughty little bitch.” 

Chance giggled. In her high-pitched falsetto she simpered, “Oh Daddy, don’t be like that.” She pouted in a comically exaggerated way. “I’ll be good, just for you,” she winked, “I promise.”

Jack harrumphed but stepped back. He held his arm out and she took it, and together they stepped fully into the conference room of the Universal Palace Theater. Chance took a look around, noting the festive garlands hanging around the crown molding of the room, the giant pine tree wrapped in lights, and the dripping blood stains, and squealed. She turned to the Usher, standing straight-backed by the door they’d just entered through, holding out his hand as if waiting for them to give him tickets. 

“Julian,” Chance said, in a breathy voice she usually reserved for whoever they strapped to the giant wheel, “these decorations are just fabulous! You’ve really out-done yourself this year.”

The Usher turned his one good eye on her and one side of his mouth quirked up. He hummed a little tune before saying, “Yes, it does look especially…” his eye roamed over the room in a satisfied way, “delicious. Bloodengutz decorated.” He raised his outstretched hand to point across the room where H.R. Bloodengutz was leaning against the punch table. Bloodengutz waved at Chance enthusiastically, and his nylon vampire cape fluttered behind him.

Chance waved back with her finger tips. When she turned back to the Usher the Director was standing beside him, trying to attach something to the Usher’s hat with a strip of masking tape. He had the handle of his super 8 camera clenched between his teeth and was wearing a red and white knitted Christmas sweater, but it wasn’t until he stepped back from the Usher and turned to face her with a smarmy expression that she could see that his sweater was only half-tucked in, and that it said ‘I’M DREAMING OF A FRIGHT (FUL) CHRISTMAS’ in blocky letters with snowflakes scattered across a red background.

Chance looked up to see a sprig of mistletoe haphazardly taped to the Usher’s round hat. A thorn had scratched the Usher’s forehead, and a trickle of blood dripped its way down Julian’s pale face. He didn’t seem to notice.

She licked her lips. “I guess that means I owe you a smooch big boy.”

“Pussy-cat!” Jack growled from across the room.

“Oh stick a pine cone in it!” She yelled back, and then leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the Usher’s cold lips. He didn’t move, but when she leaned back she could see a light dusting of pink across his prominent cheek bones. She gave him a saucy wink before turning on her heel to saunter over to where Jack was conversing in low tones with Lady Luck.

The Usher turned to the Director with a slight smile on his face, only to find that the Director, true to his moniker, had been taping the encounter. “My turn?” The Director asked, and shifted the camera lens to the other side of the room as he too pressed a small kiss to the Usher’s cheek. The Usher’s cheeks flushed a darker pink and the Director gave him a smirk before slowly backing away. The Usher watched him go with a wide-eyed smile.

The Director turned, and found the Caretaker and Cindy within his camera’s sights. They were sitting at fold-up card table playing Operation. The board game was splattered in blood and the patient’s expression was one of abject fear. The Caretaker had a green silk scarf wrapped around his neck and a small green feather stuck jauntily into the brim of his top-hat. Cindy had a single golden sleigh bell hung from a red cord around her neck. Every time her tweezers hit the side of the opening in the patient, and the game let off a high-pitched shriek she cackled. The Caretaker was looking down at her with such an expression of fatherly indulgence that the Director felt his bleeding heart warm. He lowered his camera.

“Hello Albert,” he said in a slightly nasal voice, “Cindy.”

The father-daughter duo looked up and the Caretaker pushed his top-hat farther back on his head. “Hello, Paulo,” the Caretaker greeted warmly. “Care to join us? We aren’t really keeping score; Cindy just likes to hear John here scream.”

The Director leaned over to examine the patient more. He did bear a striking resemblance to the exec Bloodengutz was known for…disagreeing with. “John Reynolds? I’m sure H.R. enjoyed that.”

The Caretaker laughed jovially and threw his head back, causing his grey hair to sweep over his shoulders as if the strands were dancing. “I’m sure he was overjoyed to see it.” There was a pause where John Reynolds shrieked and Cindy cackled. “Well, Paulo? Would you like to join us?”

The Director’s mouth split into a wide grin. “I’d love to, Albert. But I’m going to get myself something to drink first. Would either of you like anything?”

“No thank you,” the Caretaker said at the same time that Cindy said, “Bloody Mary!”

“Are you old enough?” 

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Not the drink, dummy. Mary Agana is by the punch table talking to Bloodengutz. Bring her over here.”

The Director turned with a sharp nod, and made his way to the punch table. Closest to the Director, deep in conversation, stood H.R. Bloodengutz and Bloody Mary. Bloodengutz was wearing his usual get-up, cape to pale make-up, but instead of his usual cravat he wore a gauche tie with glowing-red-eyed reindeer prancing across it. Mary wore a simple brown cardigan and a Star of David on a chain around her neck.

“It’s not that simple, H.R. I might be a Psychiatrist, but that doesn’t mean I can just whip out a diagnosis at the drop of a dime.” She put her hand on Bloodengutz’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. Come by my office sometime and we can have a session. I mostly work with fear-based ailments, so this isn’t my specialty, but I’ll see what I can do. If you still want to do this, that is. I’ll help you as much as I can, but I don’t think there’s anything _wrong_ with you.”

Bloodengutz ducked his head, a small smile playing across his face. “Thank you, Mary. You always know just how to cheer a guy up.”

Mary gave him a wide smile, and then spotted the Director and waved him over. “Hey, Paulo. How’s it going?”

The Director nodded and stepped past them to scoop the red punch into a small Dixie cup. “I’m doing pretty well, actually. I’ve found a way to get more…actors… for my films.”

“How?” Bloodengutz asked, eyes lighting up.

The Director took a sip of his drink. “Some internet website has a list, made by a man named Craig—”

Bloody Mary raised a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle, but H.R. said, “That’s so exciting! Speaking of films, you’ll never believe who wrote to me about hosting another horror variety show! Here, I’ve got the letter with me.”

He began patting at his pockets frantically, but Bloody Mary put another steadying hand on his shoulder, and with her other hand reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of regular printer paper. “Here, H.R.”

“Yes,” the Director said, running his free hand across his greasy hair, “show me—Fuck!”

“What’s the matter?” Mary asked, concern in her voice. 

The Director looked at them sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I was sent over here by Cindy. She wanted you to join us at Operation.” He pointed his Super 8 at the table where the Caretaker and Cindy were still seated. “I’d love to hear your letter, Bloodengutz, but I don’t want to make Cindy wait much longer. Albert might get…well you know how he is.”

Mary chuckled and slid a finger across her neck, but Bloodengutz was looking down, slightly put out.

“Why don’t we all go?” Mary asked, running a hand down Bloodengutz’s arm. “That way you can tell them the good news too.”

H.R. Bloodengutz turned to her with a relieved smile and a nod. Mary grabbed his arm and sedately led him to the table. The Director followed, his Super 8 recording their interactions.

Leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room stood Eddie, who was in deep conversation with the Voodoo Queen. “I ship them,” Eddie whispered from around his mouth guard to the Voodoo Queen as they watched Mary Agana lead H.R. Bloodengutz across the floor.

The Voodoo Queen rested a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow at him imperiously. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and hefted his chainsaw onto his shoulder. He subconsciously straightened his Christmas vest. It had little pompoms on it like falling snow, and a glittery ‘Merry Murder, and a Happy Homicide’ embroidered into it with gold thread. It itched. “I think they would make a good couple.”

The Voodoo Queen made an unimpressed sound. “I don’t think I like a single couple in this friend group of mine. Just look at that brother of yours.”

Eddie turned to where Jack was standing with Chance at his side, both of them talking to Lady Luck. “I think Chance and Jack make a good match,” Eddie said, contemplating the scene before him.

The Voodoo Queen scoffed. “I think you mean they make a horrifying match.”

Eddie shrugged. “Meh. At least, they’re happy. That’s all anyone can really ask for with our line of work.”

The Voodoo Queen narrowed her eyes at him.

Then, the object of their discussions stepped away from Chance and Lady Luck, and announced to the room at large: “Time for the Secret Santa gift exchange! Circle ‘round the tree, people! Chop-chop!”

Fear, the Storyteller, and the Body Collector with the robe all almost simultaneously give Jack an affronted look. The three had been playing backgammon in the corner. Or, more specifically, Fear and the Storyteller had been playing backgammon, and the Body Collector had been half-watching half-observing the room at large.

“Who are you to order any of us about?” Fear demanded.

Jack swept his hand down his front, and then, as if remembering that Fear’s eyes were mere empty sockets, he said, “Santa, duh! Now circle up, suckers, it’s Christmas time.”

The group of them moved to the carpet near the tree and sat in a disgruntled fashion. Fear looked especially angry as he folded his legs beneath him. The Voodoo Queen hissed at Jack who merely smirked back at her. “Now it’s Secret Santa time,” Jack said. “Here’s how we’re going to do it—”

“Why are you deciding this, Child?” The Storyteller asked.

Jack tossed a knife at the Storyteller, which she dodged with a frown. “First off, Granny, fuck you!” Jack shrieked. “I’m fucking dead, you dumb bitch, not a child. Second of all, I’m fucking Santa!”

“Oh cram it Jack!” Chance complained, arms crossed.

“No need to be rude,” the Usher muttered.

“Anyway,” Jack continued, as if there had been no interruptions, “We all bought a gift for a randomly chosen other person, correcto? Great! So, we’re going to start with someone… _random_ …why not? That person will give their gift to the recipient, that person will then give the gift they bought to their gift’s recipient, etcetera etcetera. Capiche?”

There were a few nods, but most graced Jack with an expression ranging from apathetic to irate. 

“Good!” Jack exclaimed, “Now because I’m such a stand-up guy, I think we should start with me!” Jack pulled out a lopsided package wrapped in brown packing paper and threw it at Fear. “You’re my Secret Santa, Mr. Adaru,” he simpered, and when Fear didn’t immediately open the present he leaned forward with a growl. “Open it!”

Fear frowned in distaste but tore open the wrapping. He shook the item out to find a Grinch hoodie. Fear cocked his head to the side and then held it up to his chest.

“You _are_ a mean one,” Lady Luck said sweetly.

Fear ignored her and pulled the hoodie on, covering his previously bare chest. Jack cackled at Fear’s put-upon expression, but Fear didn’t reply. Fear flipped a coin up in the air and it arched across the room till it landed in front of Lady Luck. She looked down at the coin, a normal looking quarter, tails up, and then back at Fear.

“What’s this?” She asked. Fear’s mouth splint into a wide, terrifying grin, and Lady Luck picked up the coin. She tossed it through the air and it landed on her delicate palm tails up. Lady Luck frowned and flicked it into the air again, only for it to land once more tails up. She narrowed her eyes at Fear who merely grinned in reply.

“Is it weighted?” Cindy asked.

“Can you even weight a quarter?” Bloodengutz asked.

“You’re trying my patience,” Lady Luck said quietly to Fear, her teeth showing, but she stuck the quarter down the front of her dress anyway. Then she drew a neatly packaged rectangular prism from behind her back and carefully slid the package over to the Storyteller.

The Storyteller gingerly picked the package up, hefted it in one hand to test the weight, and then meticulously removed the green-and-red-striped wrapping paper. Taking off the paper revealed a glass-fronted display case with dark velvet backing.

“For your tongues, Strict,” Lady Luck said, ruby lips curling into a kinder sort of smile.

The Storyteller petted the front of the case. “Why thank you, dearie. It is certainly going to come in handy.” She gave the glass one last appraising look before pushing a large, colorful gift bag towards the Body Collector.

The Body Collector dove into the bag with all of the eagerness of a shark smelling blood, and pulled out a blue and white bundle which unrolled to reveal a long, knitted robe of white snowflakes on an icy blue background. The Body Collector grinned, his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. He stood, swung off his ceremonial robes, and donned the new robe. He practically purred, looking down at the decorative outfit, and ran one long-fingered hand down his chest. “Soft,” he declared. And then “Thank you.”

The Storyteller nodded, but before she could say anything, if, indeed, she were even planning on saying anything at all, the Body Collector rifled a pale hand through his discarded robe, pulled out a severed human head and lobbed it at Bloody Mary who caught it with some trepidation.

“Is this…” Mary trailed off, examining the head. “Is this the head of Dr. Gustav Heim?” The Body collector nodded, and Mary gave him a kind smile. “Thank you, this is so sweet.”

“Who was he?” Cindy demanded.

“Manners,” the Caretaker cautioned lightly, though his lips were upturned.

“Isn’t he that NAMH dick who denied funding for your therapy?” Bloodengutz asked.

“See?” Eddie mouthed at the Voodoo Queen from across the room, but she ignored him.

“Yes,” Mary said, and petted the decapitated head’s hair. Then she shook herself and took a small package, wrapped in gold paper, and handed it to the Caretaker. “Here, Albert. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

The Caretaker took the gift from her and tore the paper off of it with extreme efficiency. “A Holiday for Murder, eh? By Agatha Christie?”

Mary nodded. “It’s a good one. Some light reading for cold winter nights.” Chance scoffed and Mary corrected herself. “Slightly-chilly-if-we’re-lucky winter nights.”

The Caretaker nodded slowly. “Thank you Mary. I’m sure it will be enjoyable.” Then he turned to the Voodoo queen and gave her an insulated cooler with a bow on top.

“Wonder what this could be,” the Voodoo Queen said, and unceremoniously popped the lid off. She looked into the box and her expression inexplicably lightened. “Are these beignets?” She asked, a little smile on her face, and then she shifted something around inside, “And a human heart?” She smiled up at the Caretaker. “Albert, this is great! I’m going to have the most wonderful breakfast tomorrow.”

The Caretaker bowed his head, a self-satisfied smirk resting on his face.

“What are beignets?” The Director asked.

“Doughnuts,” the Usher explained in a low voice from next to him, and the Director nodded as if that explained everything.

The Voodoo Queen made a horrified noise in the back of her throat. “I am _disgusted_ to think that _anyone_ could ever consider _doughnuts_ —”

“Yeah!” Chance interrupted, with a high-pitched giggle, “They _are_ kind of like doughnuts!”

The Voodoo Queen’s eye twitched and she met Eddie’s gaze. He grimaced in apology, and she gnashed her teeth. Finally she decided that murdering her sometimes friends wasn’t necessarily worth the trouble since they’d have to work together in the future, and pushed a bulkily wrapped, oblong, gift towards Cindy.

Cindy grinned, her black lipstick making the smile seem more sinister than it would have, though just as sinister, no doubt, as she wanted. She tore open the large oblong thing to find a basket inside. And in the basked was a headless chicken. Cindy’s smile turned into something more genuine. “I’m going to dissect it,” Cindy growled in a low voice. The Caretaker gave her an indulgent look, but the Voodoo Queen gave her a look of approval.

Then Cindy pulled her mind away from the headless chicken and pushed a small gift bag over to Bloodengutz. Bloodengutz took a small moment to admire how all of the snowmen on the gift bag had been given instruments of destruction, drawn on in sharpie. He smiled at the littlest one, holding a small vial of arsenic with a butchers’ knife half hidden behind his back. Then he reached inside and brought out a blush palette. He reached inside again and brought out white foundation. He tipped the bag over and watched as item after item of make-up rolled to the floor, from mascara to lipstick to eye shadow.

“Because you could look much scarier,” Cindy explained to Bloodengutz. “Your contouring isn’t half-bad, but the quality is shit. This is stuff I stole from Sephora, you should get more out of it.”

Bloodengutz ran a thumb over his cheek, then pulled it away to examine the white residue that was left on it. He grimaced. “Thanks Cindy.” Cindy shrugged unconcerned and then proceeded to ignore everyone as she went about plucking feathers from the chicken with prudence.

Bloodengutz brought his own gift from behind his back, a small rectangular prism wrapped in paper with mistletoe and banners strewn across it with cute phrases like, “Wreck the halls,” “Slay bells jingle,” and “Yule die” scattered along the paper’s surface. He gave it to Chance who stopped to admire the paper for only a moment before tearing into it with her sharp nails.

“A joke book!” Chance exclaimed, looking down at her unwrapped gift. She flipped through the pages, “And look! They even have a knife joke.”

“Well tell it, snookums,” Jack snarled.

Chance gave a little giggle, “Ok, well, ‘What’s the difference between a knife and a Cadillac?’”

“What?” the Storyteller asked as her knitting needles clacked away.

“‘I don’t have a Cadillac in my pocket. Get in the van.’” Chance looked up from the book. “Isn’t that just hilarious? I love it, H.R.!”

Bloodengutz lowered his head to hide his blush. “Oh it was nothing,” he said, but it was mostly too quiet to be heard.

Then Chance tossed a gift box at Eddie who caught it at the last moment. He lowered it onto his lap before removing the lid and pulling out a denim vest. He turned it around to see a chainsaw embroidered on the back, with the phrase, ‘What’s funny ‘bout a Chainsaw?’ atop it.

“I love it!” Eddie exclaimed enthusiastically, and shucked his old vest to put on his new one.

The Voodoo queen rolled her eyes, but her lips were quirked upwards and she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. 

Once the vest was on Eddie stood to model it.

“Looking good,” the Director said softly.

“You really outdid yourself, Chance,” Bloody Mary said, “it’s beautiful.”

Fear grinned a sharp toothy grin that made everyone in the room wince simultaneously. “It inspires…fear. I approve.”

Eddie flexed and the Body Collector wolf-whistled.

Then Eddie took a small package and tossed it at Jack who didn’t bother even looking at the blood-spattered wrapping paper before tearing it open. He stared at the gift for a moment before turning to his brother. “You got me a _book_?” he asked incredulously.

Eddie’s eyebrows raised. “Just trust me on this. You’ll enjoy ‘It.’ It’s by Stephen King.”

Jack looked down at the book, stuffed it into his jacket, and then looked around the room. “There’s something missing.”

“We didn’t get everyone,” the Storyteller explained.

Jack pulled out a crumbling scroll which he unwound with a flourish and began to read. “You’re right! Paulo! Julian! Why didn’t you give your gifts? No, you must not have gotten any of us. Who did you guys get?”

The Director and the Usher pointed at each other.

“Ah,” Jack said, “well that explains it.”

“Why weren’t they a part of the circle?” Bloodengutz asked.

“Well, drawing from the hat was completely randomized,” Bloody Mary explained, still cradling the decapitated head. “I’m actually surprised there weren’t more small groups of gift-exchangers at the party.”

“Hmmm,” Jack said, effectively providing cover for Eddie to glare at the Voodoo Queen and point at Mary. The Voodoo Queen made a fake gagging motion. “Well,” Jack continued, “I suppose there’s nothing for it. You guys still gotta give gifts. Well, go ahead.”

The Director and the Usher stared at each other for a moment before coming to a silent agreement. The Director took a small package from his pocket and handed it to the Usher who unwrapped it with glee. Inside was a small square of paper, which the Usher held up to the light reverently. 

“It’s vintage,” the Director explained, “a ticket from the debut of _Phantom of the Opera_.”

The Usher moaned and rubbed the ticket across his chest, than down, down, further down. Yes. Right there.

The Director’s fingers twitched on his camera handle.

Then the Usher, still in an awed silence, carefully placed the ticket in an inner pocket of his jacket and gave a lumpier wrapped gift to the Director. 

“I made it,” the Usher explained, as the Director unwrapped his gift. He pulled out what looked like a wide strip of fabric with holes and buttons in strategic places. “It’s a koozie,” the Usher further explained, and cautiously removed the cloth from the Director’s fingers and the Super 8 Camera from his other hand. The Usher carefully affixed the soft, red koozie to camera, and handed it back to the Director, revealing green words stitched on the side of it, below a beaded sprig of mistletoe.

The Director ran his finger across the words. “‘Merry Snuff-mas.’ How appropriate.”

The Usher shifted. “Do you like it?”

The Director smiled at the Usher toothily. “Julian, I love it.”

The Voodoo Queen snapped her fingers, catching Eddie’s attention, and once he had his eye on her she mouthed, “I ship _that_.”

Eddie nodded knowingly and mouthed back, “So does everyone.”


End file.
